Free A June Bride by Teresa DesJardien Page A

him that it was a decidedly wasteful thing to burn lamps late at night, but Geoffrey proceeded to do so, thinking Lord Warring could safely absorb the expense of their oil, the least the man could do for all the trouble he, Geoffrey, was being put to.
    He picked up the second lamp and circled the room, looking into cupboards and drawers and onto shelves. In no time he had located three books, clearly discarded by other occupants, stashed about the room.  They were dry travel and exploration tomes, but there was one about America which at least promised to have some interesting tales of savages hidden among its pages.
    He took it back to his chair, wrapped himself again in the counterpane, and opened the book so that the twin lights fell upon it to best advantage.
    He was starting to feel a little drowsy when the door opened quietly and Alessandra stepped in without first knocking. Her hair was no longer pinned up on her head, but caught back in a long, dark plait. Clearly a maid had seen to her, and put her in night dress, over which she now wore a woolen robe. She kept her eyes down, and she stopped only two steps into the room. For a moment he recalled the same half-scared expression upon the face of a five year old Alessandra, that time he had roundly scolded her for telling on him to his father. He had made the mistake of trying to get his father’s miniature ship most unsuccessfully out of its bottle, and she had had the bad grace to report he’d broken it.
    He sighed deeply, and saw her just stop herself from retreating. “Come to the fire,” he said gently, for it was obvious she was fighting back tears.
    She did not move for a moment, but finally she stepped forward woodenly and sat stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite his own, blinking until her misty eyes no longer threatened to overflow.
    “Your father ordered you to come to this room,” he stated. He did not add he suspected her father was yet outside the door, making sure Alessandra did not come back out.
    “If my father meant to save me from humiliation, he would not have made me do this,” she said in carrying tones, staring straight ahead, her lower lip trembling.
    “It is my fault.” Geoffrey spoke more quietly than she, for he didn’t care to have Lord Warring hear any protests he might make. Instead, he half-smiled, knowing she had to see chagrin in the slant of his mouth. “I challenged him. But he has bested me in the end. He’s a sly old thing, yes?”
    “Yes,” she said bitterly.
    “He doesn’t understand you very well, does he?”
    She looked at him then, surprised.
    “Nor does he understand me. I am not a slave to my drives. But how was he to know that?”
    “Your…drives…?”
    He waved the word away. “Let us make the best of this chess game of your father’s then, shall we? We have made our choice for the night, and this little mummer’s play of his changes nothing.”
    Her eyes were wide, and she gave an uncertain nod.
    “I’m hungry. Are you? Do you object if I ring for something to eat?”
    Alessandra slowly slid deeper into her chair. “All right,” she agreed, her lower lip retracting a little. “And I would like some chocolate to drink.”
    “Sounds enchanting. I myself have had enough champagne for one day.” So saying, he rose, still wrapped in his bulky covering, and waddled to the bell pull by the bed. After he had tugged the plaited cord, trusting it would ring somewhere below stairs, for it was otherwise silent, he shuffled back to his chair, dragging a second blanket from off the bed behind him. “My dear?” he offered it to Alessandra.
    She accepted the offering and stood to wrap it around herself, unable to keep a sigh of appreciation from passing her lips as she snuggled down once again into the chair. He noted the chair was large enough that her toes scarcely touched the carpet when she sat back.
    A servant soon appeared, and if the girl, Maggie, was surprised to find the couple wrapped in